The Life Chaotic
by nikkithedead
Summary: After the events of season two, Jackson has been left traumatized and broken, unable to connect with the world around him. Feeling desperate and lost, he seeks out Derek as a convenient distraction and source of comfort. Just as the two begin to find a strange solace in each other, a new threat arrives in Beacon Hills, one with the power to throw all of their lives into chaos.
1. Prologue: Memories

**A/N: This is set shortly after the end of season two, and takes place in a universe I like to call "fuck you season 3." Nothing that happened in season three is going be acknowledged by or occur in this story. I'm also including the Alpha Pack in that, even though technically we first saw them at the end of season two. So instead of Chris Argent releasing Boyd and Erica at the end of season two, only for them to be immediately captured by the Alpha Pack, what happened here is that Chris let them go, and they were found in the forrest by Derek shortly after. **

**Trigger warnings for subsequent chapters include dub-con, non-con, suicide and self-mutilation. Graphic violence and sexual situations will be common. If you have any questions about the specifics of those, feel free to send me a PM. **

**Merry Christmas :)**

* * *

"I could have screamed aloud;  
I sought with tears and prayers to smother down  
the crowd of hideous images and sounds with which  
my memory swarmed against me."  
—Robert Louis Stevenson, _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_

**Prologue****: Memories**

Neither of them had meant for it to happen. Looking back, Derek wasn't even sure how it _had _happened. One minute they'd been yelling at each other, and the next Derek had Jackson pressed roughly back against the wall, and Jackson was pulling off his clothes...

Derek _had not _meant for that to happen. Hadn't meant to yell at him, and definitely hadn't meant for the sweaty, awkward hand-job that had followed. He'd only wanted to make it better.

It had been well past mid-night when Derek had wandered down into the dingy basement that held the abandoned subway car he'd spent a portion of the previous year living in. He'd moved on now, to a more permanent living situation, but he still liked the space. That was where Derek had found him, huddled in a corner, red-eyed and stinking of alcohol. His hand had been bleeding, cut on the bottle of whisky he'd shattered in it when he'd realized it could no longer be used to dull his pain.

Derek had tried to talk to him. To... comfort him, as best he could. Comfort wasn't really his area of expertise, he was more of a "suck it up, bury it down and go on" type of guy... but he was trying to change, he really was. The experience with the kanima, and with Gerard Argent, had been a wake up call. He needed to be there for his pack, not just train them up into little warrior wolves and tell them to try not to get killed. They were teenagers, and they were lost. They needed him to guide them.

The trouble was it wasn't easy guiding someone, when you were just as lost as they were.

So he'd tried to get Jackson to talk to him, to tell him what was wrong... to help him. Ignored Jackson's repeated, biting assertions thats he was _fine, _and that Derek should just fuck off and leave him be. Ignored the stream of insults and jabs, the relentless sarcasm and the overwhelming urge to grab him and _shake him. _

Jackson had not made it easy. His attitude made it practically impossible to be nice to him, and niceness was not something that came easily to Derek under the best of circumstances. Derek didn't think he'd ever met someone who infuriated him so much, or so easily, and that said something because Derek was personally acquainted with Stiles Stilinski.

All things considered, Derek had actually been doing alright; keeping his temper down, trying to at least _appear _calm. Then he'd realized that though they'd been "talking" for over 10 minutes, the cut on Jackson's hand was still bleeding.

That really sent him over the edge, Jackson keeping himself from healing. It was so stupidly, self indulgently _pointless. _

So he'd lost it, shouted at him and demanded that Jackson tell him what was wrong, and let himself _heal, _or else Derek was going to claw out his throat. He'd thrown him up against the wall and growled harshly in his face, fully expecting Jackson to laugh at him and tell him to go fuck himself. But talking it out hadn't worked, so it had clearly been time for the old stand by of claws-and-teeth.

It _had _worked, sort of. Jackson had told him what had happened.

See, when Jackson had been the kanima, he hadn't remembered what he was doing. Matt made him forget, made him not know what he was. Now that Matt was dead, and the kanima curse broken, the memories of what he'd done had been coming back to him. They came back in pieces, Jackson said, in quick flashes—the sound of screaming, the smell of blood, wide terrified eyes... Sometimes memories came back to him out of the blue, but more often than not they were trigged by something.

Today after school, Jackson had found that the fuel line on his Porsche had broken, and he'd taken it into the mechanics to get it fixed. As the kanima, Jackson had killed a mechanic by the name of Tucker Cornish. When he'd gone into the shop, the memory had come back.

Derek had tried to tell him that it wasn't his fault, and that hurting himself wouldn't solve anything. Jackson hadn't listened, still refused to heal, and so Derek had resumed shouting at him. Jackson had been shouting back, his hands on Derek's chest trying to shove him off. And then... neither of them had been shouting anymore.

Derek still didn't understand how it had happened, how he'd lost control like that. In the end, it didn't really matter how or why it happened, just that it never happened again. And it wouldn't, Derek swore.

Still, it hadn't all been for nothing. What had happened hadn't been planned, but it had worked, in a manner.

Jackson had healed as he came.


	2. Flesh

**Chapter 2: Flesh**

"And nobody finds the one, but keep looking,  
Crawling in and out of beds.  
Flesh covers the bone,  
And the flesh searches for more than flesh."  
—Charles Bukowski, _Alone With Everybody_

* * *

For the first time in months, Jackson had not dreamt of dying. He'd slept without seeing the faces of Matt or Gerard, and in the morning awoke without the cries of his victims echoing in his ears.

Instead, the cries that faded from his mind as he woke up were... different. Instead of _help, _they'd cried a name. _Derek._

What had happened between him and Derek the night before hardly felt real. It seemed insane—no, it _was _insane. Derek was obviously insane, and Jackson was even worse for wanting him. Wanted, past tense. Had wanted him last night, but now it was morning and he was determined to prove that the insanity had been temporary on his part.

Last night was over. It was morning now, and as Jackson pulled himself out of bed and shuffled towards his bathroom, he resolved to not wanting him ever again.

And why would he? He wouldn't. Shouldn't.

_Won't. _

While Jackson jerked off in the shower, with memories of Derek's rough hands and hungry mouth drifting around his head, he just told himself that it didn't count.

* * *

School was uneventful. People spoke to him, he spoke back. He went to his morning classes. Took some notes—not good ones. It didn't matter, he'd find someone else to get decent ones from later. Worst case scenario, he'd just pull the "I died" card, and get out of any tests or assignments he had on whatever it was that they were learning.

Lunch time for Jackson was both painful and boring. Particularly painful because it was also boring, and there was no worse pain than the very boring kind. Boring pain dragged on forever. As such, Jackson felt like he'd been having lunch for at least 12 years now. The time on his cellphone said it had only been 20 minutes.

They were sitting with Scott, Stiles and Isaac today. Scott had smiled at him and tried to have some kind of conversation when they'd sat down (_"Do you think you'll come back to lacrosse soon? The teams not the same without you..."_) and Isaac had given him a kind of half-smile and a nod, followed by a very deliberate look at Scott that said _"see, look how nice I'm being to him?" _Scott had rolled his eyes, and Jackson had quietly seethed. He hated that Scott McCall was telling people to be nice to him. He hated that Scott McCall somehow thought they were _friends _now. He didn't want his friendship, or his pity.

Stiles' attitude towards him remained blessedly unchanged. He resented him for being with Lydia, and generally ignored him otherwise. For that, Jackson was grateful.

Next to him was Lydia, sitting with an untouched salad in front of her, and looking at a fashion magazine with the kind of careful deliberation that could only mean she was just as bored as he was. Jackson knew that she wasn't really reading it—it was the same magazine she'd had with her two nights before, while they'd done their homework together. Or more accurately, the magazine she'd been reading while Jackson had done his homework (which she had finished hours before him) and refused all of her offers to help.

If she'd had the magazine two days ago, he knew there was no way she hadn't already read the thing cover to cover by now. That meant the magazine was no longer reading materiel, but a prop chosen to broadcast a certain image to their peers. Jackson wondered how he'd never noticed before, how much of her time Lydia spent carefully broadcasting a certain image. He'd known image was important to her, obviously... but beyond that, he guessed he just hadn't bothered to care.

Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if he was one of her props. He knew that she loved him now, because he listened closely to her heartbeat whenever the words left her lips—every time expecting to hear the quick _thrumpity-thrump _of a lie—but he still couldn't helping thinking back on every moment of the last two years, and wondering how much of their relationship had just been for show.

"Soo..." Stiles was saying, reaching over in front of Scott and grabbing a few french fries from Isaac's plate. Isaac narrowed his eyes a little and watched as Stiles shoved the fries into his mouth and continued to talk. "Tonight, we're doing video games and pizza at Scott's, right?"

"I thought we were studying for the chem test tonight?" Scott asked, furrowing his brow.

"Right, yeah, that's what I said," Stiles began reaching for Isaacs fries again, but Isaac grabbed his wrist before he could get near them. Stiles glared at him, and retracted his hand.

"Can I stay over?" Isaac asked, taking a few of his own fries and smirking at Stiles while he ate them. "Derek's been kind of moody lately."

Stiles snorted. "You meant 'er', right? Derek's been moodi_er. _Which I personally find hard to believe, considering that he's always at what _should _be the maximum level of moodiness that any human being can achieve—"

"Sure you can stay," Scott said, speaking over Stiles. "But you guys have to promise me we're going to get _some _studying done." He looked back and forth between Isaac and Stiles, who had suddenly become very involved in their respective lunches. Scott sighed. He looked up, and Jackson quickly turned away and tried to pretend he hadn't been listening. "Jackson, do you want to—"

"_No," _Jackson said, standing up violently. He was horrified Scott had mistook his listening for interest in hanging out with them (and even more horrified in himself, because he knew his actual interest lay in the fact that Isaac wouldn't be at Derek's tonight. He would deny that too). Lydia glanced up from the magazine she wasn't reading, and raised an eyebrow at him. "I have to go, I'll see you after school, alright?" He turned away, and heard her sigh.

"We have class together next period, Jackson," Lydia said, going back to her prop.

"Then I'll see you next period," Jackson muttered. He stormed out of the cafeteria and spent the rest of lunch aimlessly wandering the hallways and trying not to think about Derek. Not Derek's hands, or the way Derek's mouth had felt on his neck. Not how frustrating it was that he hadn't been allowed to touch Derek back.

The back of his neck was growing hot. Just thinking about all the things he wasn't thinking about was getting to him. Making him flustered.

When the bell rang, he looked up and realized he was standing in front the Photography club's dark room.

He told himself that didn't count, either.

* * *

After school Jackson met Lydia in the parking lot. His car was still at the mechanics, so she was his ride. When he arrived she gave him a quick kiss by way of greeting, and then they got into the car and drove away from the school.

Jackson looked out the window as they drove. The sky was dark and cloudy, and some sense that he couldn't quite describe told him that a storm was headed their way. The clouds had been building for a few days now, with them a sort of subdued dreariness had settled over Hills recently. Everything looked bleak and grey, still and almost lifeless. Jackson didn't mind. In fact, he kind of liked it; it suited his mood.

Neither of Lydia's parents were home when they arrived, but they went straight up to Lydia's bedroom anyways. Lydia began unpacking her textbooks and homework, and Jackson dumped his backpack in the middle of the floor, and stood with his hands in his pockets. They'd hardly spoken on the drive, and he felt like he should say something.

"Uh... so, how was your day?"

Lydia was flipping through the pages of her pink day planner. She shrugged. "Alright, I suppose. Generally uneventful." She looked up from the day planner, and raised her eyebrows. "What about you?"

Jackson nodded. "Uneventful," He lied. Lydia smiled, and went back to her day planner.

* * *

_Jackson was in chains. They descended from the ceiling and bound his wrists together above his head. His clothing was in tatters, and long red marks covered his body, like lashes from a whip. Jackson struggled against his chains, and someone laughed. He cried out as his jailer's hand roamed over the lashes on his chest, inflaming them. "Where do you think you're going?" Derek asked, sliding his hand up the back of Jackson's neck. "Control yourself, Jackson," He pulled off what remained of Jacksons shirt and pressed his mouth against his shoulder in a way that was more bite than kiss. Jackson moaned. "Or better yet..." Derek said, his hand slipping down to Jackson's tattered pants. "Let me control you." Jackson laughed and closed his eyes as Derek began to touch him. They both knew that he already did. _

_And there was no other way Jackson would want it. _

Somewhere in a world far away, a female voice called Jackson's name. Jackson squeezed his eyes shut harder, and clung to the feeling of Derek's hands. The voice called his name again, and this time Jackson recognized it. Lydia. A jolt of fear went through Jackson's heart—she couldn't see him like this, she couldn't see him with Derek—and his eyes sprang open and he sat up with a jolt.

Jackson breathed heavily, and looked at his surroundings. There were books and papers covering his chest, and he remembered falling asleep while he and Lydia had done their homework. His heartbeat slowed. Next to him on her bed, Lydia raised her eyebrows. "Bad dream?" She asked, not unsympathetically.

Feeling nauseous, Jackson nodded slowly. "Yeah, horrible." He said. He hoped that Lydia never figured out exactly how often he lied to her.

* * *

At midnight Jackson stood in front of his window, staring at his own reflection and convincing himself that he wasn't about to do what he was about to do. He couldn't be about to, because what he was about to do was _insane, _and his insanity from the night before had only been temporary. It was all gone now. Everything was fine.

That's what he told himself as he climbed out his window, backpack slung over his shoulder. He jumped off from the roof and landed easily on his feet in a crouch. He looked around as he stood up, but the streets were deserted. Of course they were, it was midnight and this was suburbia; everyone went to bed at nine.

Jackson tucked his hands into his pockets as he headed down the street, watching Isaac's old house uneasily out of the corner of his eye. Despite the over-grown lawn and the FOR SALE sign, he still half-expected to hear shouting and pleading coming from inside. He listened for a moment but, of course, the house was silent. All of its former inhabitants were either dead or as good as. Jackson walked on.

It was close to 1:30 by the time Jackson arrived at Derek's loft. Once inside the building, he stared at the thick metal door, listening to the sound of his heart hammering away in his chest. This had been a mistake. A really, really stupid one. What did he expect Derek to do? He should leave. Right now.

Jackson didn't move. He took no steps forward towards the door, and none backwards towards sanity. He simply stayed exactly where he was, regretting every decision he'd ever made that had let him to this point.

Jackson was still standing there, unmoving, waffling over whether or not he was going to leave, when Derek opened the door. "Jackson?" Derek asked, looking at him with a furrowed brow. Jackson felt his whole body go rigid. "What are you doing here?"

Jackson's mind raced around for something to say, some sort of lie or excuse or _anything. _All that left his mouth was "Uh..."

Derek's brow unfurrowed, giving Jackson the horrifying idea that he knew exactly what "uh" meant. "How long have you been standing here?" He asked, looking him up and down.

Jackson looked down at his watch. "About 10 minutes,"

Derek sighed, and took a step back from the door, holding it open for Jackson, who again tried to say something, but found that his mouth had gone horribly dry. Words stuck in his throat, Jackson ducked his head slightly, and walked past Derek into his loft.

* * *

**A/N: Addendum to my previous note about how nothing from season 3 about be happening in this fic; I lied. There is indeed an element from season 3 that I have decided to keep in this fic. Derek's car. In the world of this fic, he has replaced the camaro with the toyota. It's bigger and more practical, the backseat is roomy, which may or may not be important later on. **

**Happy New Years. **


	3. Mistakes

**Chapter 3: Mistakes**

"Keep quiet, nothing comes as easy as you.  
Can I lay in your bed all day?  
I'll be your best kept secret,  
And your biggest mistake."  
_—Fall Out Boy, Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner_

* * *

Jackson had been to Derek's loft a few times before, but never at night, and never without the rest of Derek's pack there as well. It seemed different this way... smaller, somehow. Jackson switched his backpack to his other shoulder, looking around. Despite the late hour, it didn't seem like Derek had been sleeping. There was a large, dust covered volume face down on the coffee table off to the side of the room, and over at the back Jackson could see Derek's bed was still made. Jackson stared at the bed and its dark covers, trying to picture Derek lying amongst them, sleeping. It wasn't easy to imagine Derek asleep, looking vulnerable and unguarded.

"Jackson, you can't do this," Derek said, making Jackson jump. Derek didn't appear to notice. He had closed the door to his loft, and made his way across the room to the couch. He took a seat on the edge of it, and rested his forearms on his knees. "You can't just show up here, out of the blue. Isaac—"

"—is at Scott's," Jackson finished. He smirked, dropped his backpack against the floor and stepped towards the couch where Derek sat. "I heard them at lunch."

Derek regarded him warily. "We can't do this, Jackson," He said this time. "What happened last night, it—we—" Derek broke off as Jackson approached. He watched wordlessly as Jackson removed his jacket and laid it across the coffee table, covering Derek's book. Derek glanced briefly at the jacket, then back up at Jackson. "What are you doing?" His voice was quieter now, but Jackson wouldn't exactly say it sounded soft.

Trying very hard not to listen to the sound of his own heart hammering in his chest, Jackson grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head. He took a step closer to Derek, and the beat of his heart grew louder as he felt Derek's knee press against his leg. He didn't know what he was doing, or what was was driving him... he just knew that he couldn't let Derek turn him away. He'd come too far for that.

Jackson let his shirt fall to the ground, and his arms fall to his sides. He stood in front of Derek, red faced and half-naked, and waited. For a moment, Derek only stared at him. Then Jackson saw Derek's eyes slide down from his face, to his bare chest.

Derek swallowed.

Though the expression on Derek's face gave nothing away, Jackson concentrated, listened closely to the sound of Derek's breathing and heard it quicken. Derek's eyes flicked up to meet his once more, and he held Jackson's gaze as he reached forward and touched him, brushing his fingers lightly along his navel.

A dry gasp escaped Jackson's throat as Derek grabbed his hips with both hands, pulled him forward and pressed his mouth against his skin. It felt like a bolt of electricity had hit his body, sending waves of static shock running through his veins, making his blood boil. His knees felt weak, his legs shaky, and as Derek's mouth roamed over his body he could not help but dig his fingers into Derek's hair, clinging to him as he sucked dark purple bruises into Jackson's skin.

Jackson felt Derek's lips leave him, and for a moment he just felt his breath, heavy and warm against his wet skin. Derek looked up at him, and Jackson could not have said how, but in that moment he knew that he had him. Derek wanted him, and tonight, Jackson would let himself be had.

Jackson swallowed, and tried to keep his voice steady as he spoke. He wanted this, more than he could remember having wanted anything since he'd died. "Derek..." There was no need to be scared, because this time—this time it was his choice.

If his voice shook, it was only a little.

_"I need you to fuck me."_

* * *

In the end, Derek thought it was how very prepared Jackson had been, that had really broken him. Even more than the fiercely determined (and just a little bit scared) look in Jackson's eyes when he'd told Derek to fuck him. Jackson himself seemed unsure whether he was asking or telling Derek, and his tone of voice seemed to waiver awkwardly between the two; one second demanding, the next begging.

Similarly, Derek wasn't sure which he preferred.

Inside the backpack Jackson had brought with him were three different types of lubrication, and three different boxes of condoms in various sizes. "Wasn't sure what to get," Jackson mumbled, scratching at the back of his neck and looking anywhere but Derek's bed, where he'd upturned the contents of his bag. "I was hoping you'd know."

Derek told him he did.

They moved quickly, stripping off their clothes and collapsing together on Derek's bed (the former contents of Jackson's backpack shoved off to the side). Jackson's ferocity surprised him, but not more than his own hunger. It wasn't until his claws came out that Derek even realized how out of control he was. And although Jackson cried out as Derek's claws raked across his back, just as his mouth moved along his neck, he only clung to Derek tighter. He said nothing, but somehow Derek knew he didn't want him to stop.

Everything was happening too fast. It was too much to process, to handle. It was as though someone had lit a fire inside his chest, and every time he touched Jackson he felt the flames climb higher, burning him from the inside out. And deep down, Derek knew, he _knew, _that this was wrong. Jackson was hurt, he was broken, and Derek couldn't say he was much better off. They couldn't do this, it was a mistake. And Derek had already made so many of those in his life, he didn't think he could afford another.

In a last ditch effort to do something resembling right by Jackson, Derek wrenched himself away and tried to catch his breath. "Jackson... we can't, it's..." Through the darkness, Derek saw Jackson roll his eyes. He grabbed Jackson's wrists and pinned them on either side of his head, trying to push down his frustration and the consuming heat in his chest. "I could _hurt _you," He insisted. He needed Jackson to listen, to understand that this was wrong. He needed Jackson to walk away, because he didn't think he could.

Jackson looked up at him for a moment, and then raised his head towards Derek. _"Good," _He hissed. His jaw clenched tightly. "That is _exactly_ what I want."

The burning in his chest reached an apex, and Derek could no longer fight against it. As he gave in, and allowed himself to be consumed, Derek took comfort in the fact that no matter how bad the mistake, at least this time he was not alone in making it.

* * *

In the darkness and silence of his loft, the groaning beside Derek seemed somehow amplified.

Derek lay next to Jackson and watched him through the darkness. Jackson had barely moved since they'd finished. He was on his knees, face down in one of Derek's pillow, forearms braced against the mattress on either side. Derek could see his arms shaking a little, as though he was struggling to lift himself up. Long red scratches decorated Jackson's back—shallow, but still painful looking. It would be a while before they healed.

Derek reached out, running his hand over Jackson's torn skin. A sharp intake of breath punctuated Jackson's groans. Derek's stomach knotted. "It was too much," He mumbled, smoothing his hand over Jackson's back. He kept his touch soft, gentle, as though trying to undo the damage. "I should have known better..."

Jackson managed to lift his head up, and Derek's hand stilled, surprised to see that he looked sleepy. "Mmm, shut up," Jackson mumbled. He rolled over, so his reddened back was pressed against Derek's chest. He groaned again, but this time Derek thought he could hear a sort of perverse pleasure in it. Derek saw his eyelids shut. His words slurred slightly. "S'fucking perfick."

Jackson pushed back against him, and Derek stared down at him, surprised. Jackson said nothing more, and after a moment of listening to his slow, rhythmic breathing, Derek realized he'd fallen asleep. Very carefully, Derek wrapped his arms around Jackson and lay down to sleep beside him.

* * *

It was still dark when Derek stirred awake, and found Jackson sitting up on the edge of the bed, half dressed. He watched in silence as Jackson pulled his shirt over his head, and began putting on his socks and shoes. "My parents usually look into my room before they leave for work in the morning," Jackson said, looking down as he did up his laces. "I should probably be there, when they check on me."

Derek said nothing, but continued to watch as Jackson gathered up his things, and headed for the door.

"What was this, Jackson?" Derek asked. He saw Jackson pause, his hand on the door knob. He thought he saw his back stiffen slightly.

Jackson waited a moment before answering. He opened the door, and glanced back over his shoulder. "A mistake," He said simply.

And then Jackson left, closing the door behind him.


	4. Training

**Chapter 4: Training**

"This is torturous electricity,_  
_Between both of us.  
And this is dangerous,  
'Cause I want you so much,_  
_But I hate your guts._"  
—_Daughter,_ Landfill_

* * *

Twice a week, after school, Jackson was forced to meet Derek and his pack for what Derek called "training." For Jackson what that meant was twice a week, he got his ass handed to him by kids he used to be able to walk all over. This took place in a strange basement enclosing in the city, which reeked of petrol and was filled with old car parts and an abandoned subway car.

Jackson couldn't say he typically looked forward to these meetings, and today had not proved an exception. And not just because this was the first time he'd seen Derek since their he'd visited his apartment the week before.

It had not been a fun week for Jackson.

He had meant what he'd said to Derek, as he'd left him that night. It _had _been a mistake, both times. The problem was, it was a mistake that Jackson knew he was going to have to make again. He couldn't explain why (perhaps he _could _have, if he'd tried, but truthfully he did not want to know) but he knew that whatever had begun between him and Derek, it was far from over.

After his night with Derek, for the entirety of the day that followed, Jackson had kept the scars he had been given. When he'd arrived home in the morning, he had stared himself in the mirror, looking over his shoulder at the damage that had been done to his back. Most of it had already healed to dark red and white scars, but some—the deeper ones—were still raw and scabbed. He'd liked the look of it, and all day it had been a comfort to him to know they were there, souvenirs of his night with Derek. He'd like the feel of them, when he moved or arched his back, he could feel them stretch and the scabs break. He liked the pain, just as much as he'd liked it when Derek had gave them to him. It felt like what he needed.

He had kept his souvenirs for as long as he could, but when he'd woken up the next morning to find them gone, healed while he'd slept, he'd been forced to admit the truth to himself. If he ever wanted to feel sane again, he was going to have to see Derek again.

It had only been a matter of when.

Today for sparing, Derek had paired him up with Erica. As usual, Erica looked far too happy about being given another opportunity to hurt him.

In the centre of the room they circled each other, while Boyd and Isaac watched from the stairway. Derek stood off to the side, appraising them with crossed arms and a furrowed brow.

Erica watched him intently, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on him. Even before she moved, Jackson knew he would never move quick enough to block her. He never did.

When she finally made her move, she went directly for his throat. Her claws came out, and a growl escaped her throat as she lunged. It was over in less than a second. She knocked him to the ground, and his head hit the pavement with a dull _thud. _Everything blurred for a moment, and when it came back into focus he was staring up at Erica's grinning, triumphant face. He could feel her claws pressing at his throat.

"That's enough,"

Derek's voice came from somewhere beyond Erica's face. She looked up, and Jackson tilted his head back slightly to see Derek approaching upside-down from the other side of the room. "That's not fair, it was over too fast," Erica complained, straightening up from her crouching position. She grinned down at Jackson, who glared back up. "It's no fun when I don't get to play with him,"

Off to the side of the room, Jackson heard Isaac laugh. Next to him, Boyd shook his head disapprovingly, and Isaac made an attempt to stifle the laughter against his fist. As he picked himself up from the floor, Jackson glared at them.

Jackson was barely on his feet when Derek shoved him, sending him stumbling off towards the staircase where Isaac and Boyd stood (the designated side-lines). "She's right, Jackson," Derek said, as Jackson attempted to regain his composure. Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson could see Boyd looking at him, as if he wanted to ask if he was alright. Isaac was still suppressing a smirk. Jackson set his jaw and stared at the floor, aggressively ignoring them both.

"That was pathetic," Derek continued, shaking his head at Jackson.

Jackson gritted his teeth, focusing even harder on the floor. Hate flowed through his veins like lava, burning him up and turning his face florid. "_Sorry,_"

"Don't be sorry, Jackson. Be better," Derek gestured with two fingers towards Boyd, while Jackson quietly fumed, resisting the urge to storm out and away from this pit as fast as he could. "Boyd, you spar with Erica now. Show Jackson what a real fight looks like."

"Oh, _fuck _you," Jackson snapped, unable to hold his anger in any longer. He lifted his eyes from the floor, and across the room they met with Derek's. To Jackson's great surprise, Derek smiled. It was barely visible, and contained the hint of a smirk, but it was a smile none the less.

Suddenly Jackson's mouth felt unbelievably dry. He wished he'd brought something to drink with him.

In the centre of the room, Boyd and Erica were circling each other, similar to what she and Jackson had been doing earlier. The only difference was that while Jackson had resigned himself to defeat and simply been waiting for Erica to attack, Boyd was obviously watching Erica just as intently as she was watching him.

Just as she had with Jackson, Erica once again made the first move. Unlike Jackson, Boyd was ready for her. He grabbed her around her middle, sweeping her off her feet in a smooth gesture. But while Boyd had size and strength on his side, Erica had speed and agility. Before he could slam her the ground, she'd twisted and manoeuvred them around so that when they did hit the floor, she was the one on top.

It made Jackson dizzy, watching them fight. They spun and kicked and grabbed and slammed so quickly and smoothly, at times their fight looked more like a brutal dance. From the smiles on their faces and the way their eyes glinted, you'd have thought that was what they were doing. But Jackson thought that might have been more about their partners, than about the dance itself.

When the fight was over, Erica was once again victorious. She flipped her sweat-damped hair out of her face, and grinned down at Boyd. Even though her knee was on his chest, and a clawed hand at his throat, Boyd smiled back up at her. Obviously, Boyd did not mind having Erica kick his ass.

"Good," Derek said, giving them a stiff, but approving nod. "That was good,"

"Woah, what did I just hear?" Isaac asked, feigning shock. He cupped his hands around his ears. "Say that again, I didn't quite catch it. It almost sounded like praise, for a second..."

Derek turned to Isaac, his expression neutral. "You know what Isaac, that did feel a little unnatural to me," He said. "I might have to break someone's arm, just to balance it out."

The smile dropped from Isaacs face. "Right, I can take a hint. Time to go," He said, catching the eyes of Erica and Boyd. They began to gather up their things, and Jackson did the same.

"No, not you," Derek said, sticking his arm out as Jackson attempted to walk by him. "We're not done here." At the stop of the stairs, Isaac snickered, and Jackson saw Erica smirk at him as the three of them left, letting the heavy metal door clang loudly behind them.

Jackson ground his teeth, and let his backpack drop the floor. "What?"

"What do you mean what," Derek said, striding towards the middle of the room. He turned to face him. "You've got more training to do."

Jackson slunk forwards, dragging his feet. "Why, so Erica can have another toy to play with?"

"No, you idiot, so you don't _die._"

Jackson breathed out through his nose. "You mean _again,_" Jackson muttered, under his breath. Although Derek must have heard him, he said nothing.

"Alright, come at me," Derek said, gesturing towards himself. Jackson sighed, resining himself to another hour of pain and humiliation. When he'd fantasized about the next time Derek would be throwing him onto his back, somehow this hadn't been what he'd been picturing.

When Jackson charged towards him, Derek made no move to step out of his way, or block his attack. He simply waited for Jackson to get with in arms reach, and then picked him up and threw him down onto the floor, knocking the breath clear out of his lungs.

As Jackson lay on the ground, struggling to breath, he heard Derek sigh. "Again, Jackson," He said. Jackson groaned, and then picked himself up off the ground and repeated his actions. He charged at full speed towards Derek, who was once again able to throw him down to the ground, with no visible display of effort. This time when he hit the floor, Jackson thought he might have heard something crack. "_Again, _Jackson."

They repeated this scene a good four or five times before Derek seemed to grow annoyed. "You're not even _trying,_" He growled, pacing back and forth with his arms crossed as Jackson wheezed on the floor.

Jackson's entire back felt like it had been split open, and his mouth floundered open and closed a few times before he was able to gasp out the words "_fuck you._"

Derek shook his head. "Have you healed yet?" He demanded. Too sore for sarcasm, Jackson just glared and shook his head. "Well, heal." Derek said. He crouched down next to him, and stared down at him. Jackson diverted his eyes, and tried to ignore the way Derek's scent filled his nose. Almost against his will he breathed in deeply, and felt the pain in his back ease. Jackson gritted his teeth, cursing himself. He hated himself for wanting him so badly. It wasn't fair.

"Can you at least tell me what you're doing wrong?" Derek asked. "Do you have any idea?"

"Yeah, getting my ass kicked," Jackson grunted.

Derek didn't look amused. "You know that part before you and Erica were fighting, where you were circling each other?" Derek said. "While _you _were waiting for her to tear your throat out, _she _was studying you." Derek raised his eyebrows. "Looking for weaknesses, planning her attack. So when she moved, it was deliberate. She had a _plan. _Do you understand what I'm saying? If you just keep charging ahead half-cocked, you're going to be spending a lot of time on your back."

Jackson snorted, and Derek glared down at him, obviously angry that he wasn't taking his little pep talk seriously. "Maybe thats exactly how I want to be spending my time," Jackson said, raising his eyebrows.

Derek's lip curled at his comment. "Don't," He said simply, standing up and turning away.

"Don't what?" Jackson asked, standing up as well. Suddenly his back felt fine. He took a step in Derek's direction. Before Jackson knew what had happened, Derek had lashed out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulling him forward and then slamming him back into the concrete wall. Jackson groaned, gritting his teeth sharply. Evidently his back hadn't been _quite _healed yet.

"I won't do this with you, Jackson," Derek snarled, still holding him by the front his shirt. He was close enough that Jackson could feel Derek's breath on his face, hot and angry. "I'm not going to spend the night with you, just to have you scurry off like a rat in the morning, telling me it was a mistake. If you think I'm going to play that game with you, you've got even less brains than I thought." Still glaring angrily, Derek dropped his hands. Jackson let out a long breath, one he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. "I won't be another reason for you to hate yourself, understand?"

Jackson rolled his eyes and stretched his back, heard it crack stiffly. Derek's words left an uncomfortable weight in his stomach, and he tried to hide that as best he could. "God you're sensitive," He muttered, still stretching. The muscles in his back felt like they'd given up trying to heal. "Fine, no games, alright?" His hand drifted up between Derek's legs, and he rubbed firmly, wishing Derek was wearing something more forgiving than jeans. "Can I suck you off now, please?"

Derek's lips parted slightly, and Jackson could see that the anger in his eyes had turned to surprise. It faded quickly, and Derek grabbed Jackson by the wrist and pulled his hand away. "You said it was a mistake," Derek reminded him. If Jackson hadn't known better, he would have thought there was a note of suspicion in Derek's voice. As though he was worried Jackson was playing some kind of trick on him.

Jackson grinned, and slipped out of Derek's grasp. "Yeah, well, I make a lot of mistakes..."

And with that, he sunk to his knees.

* * *

There was no bathroom in the basement, but there a tap in one of the walls, to which Derek had attached a hose and used sometimes to wash the blood from the concrete floor, after particularly brutal training sessions. Jackson used this hose now, to rinse out his mouth. The water tasted slightly metallic, and Jackson tried not to think about how fucking unsanitary it was while he gargled with it, and then spit it out over the drain in the floor.

Across the room, Derek was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall. He sat with his legs splayed out in front of him, his pants pulled back up but left unbuttoned. He looked tired, and as he walked back over to him and took in the sight, Jackson felt strangely satisfied.

As Jackson approached him, Derek did not look up, and Jackson was suddenly unsure about what he was supposed to do now. Should he just leave? He glanced over his shoulder, at the door, and then back at Derek. He doubted Derek would stop him now, if he just walked out.

Instead of leaving, Jackson took a seat on the hard concrete floor, shoulder to shoulder with Derek. Now Derek turned and looked at him, and for a moment Jackson was sure he was going to ask him what he was still doing here.

"Why?" Derek said. "Why are you doing this?"

Jackson blinked a few times. "I didn't realize it was such a problem," He said, hurt. That was even worse that when he'd been imagining. "If you want me to stop _bothering _you, just say so. I'll leave." Jackson made to stand up, but he'd barely risen an inch off the ground when Derek's hand came down on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Derek said, rolling his eyes.

Jackson glared at him. "No, I don't. How would I know that? I'm not a friggin' mind reader..." Derek sighed loudly, and put his head in his hands. "_Fine, _what did you mean then? Why am I doing _what?_"

"_This," _Derek lifted his head back up, and gestured between the two of them. "What are you getting out of this, exactly? Why... why bother? You have friends, a girlfriend—"

"Don't talk about her,"

"You have a _life, _Jackson,"

"I _had _a life,"

"Then you should be trying to get it back!" Derek snapped, his eyes glowing red as he glared at Jackson. Jackson felt himself instinctively back down, but he quickly forced that away and glared back at Derek, feeling his own eyes glow blue. Derek blinked a few times, and his eyes faded back to normal. When he spoke, the anger was gone from his voice. "I know that it isn't easy, Jackson, but that's what you should be doing. Putting your life back together. Rejoin lacrosse, the swim team—" Jackson recoiled slightly, and looked away. "Talk to the friends you've been ignoring, spend time with Lydia. Be a normal teenager, as much as you can."

"I said not to talk about her," Jackson mumbled, staring at his hands.

He heard Derek sigh. "Did you hear anything else I said?"

"Yeah, sure. Be normal, rebuild my life. Got it." Jackson looked up at Derek. "But I won't, or... I can't." He paused. "Maybe I just... don't want to. I don't want to rebuild the life I had before. I don't want to build any kind of life, really."

"Well you're not _dead, _Jackson, so you have to do something." Jackson shrugged, and Derek raised his eyebrows. "So that's that's your plan? Just avoid life, spend the rest of your time in no man's land?"

Jackson thought for a moment. "Maybe..." He said slowly. He turned away from Derek once more, clasped his hands in his lap and stared at them. "Maybe that's why I'm doing this. So..." He squeezed his eyes shut. This was physically painful. "So I don't have to be there alone." He kept his eyes shut, feeling the weight of his words hang in the air. Stupid, why the fuck did he say that? Where did that even come from? Idiot, he was an idiot.

Worst of all, he knew it was true. Jackson hadn't wanted to face it, or think about it or feel it, but there it was. The reason he needed to be with Derek, the reason why no else felt right, the way he did. Because Derek was like him. Broken, lost, scared... no real family, no real home. No life. Sure, technically Jackson wasn't dead, but what he was doing didn't feel much like living, either. The truth was, he just didn't fit anymore. Into his life, into the role he was supposed to play.

And Derek was the same. It was sick, and sad, and it made Jackson's insides twist to admit it, but when he was with Derek, he no longer felt alone. And somehow, he felt safe. Jackson was damaged, a sad dead boy trying to live a life that was no longer his, and while being with Derek didn't change that, or make it any better... at least he didn't need to try and be anything else.

After a painful minute of silence, Jackson opened his eyes, and found Derek staring at him. There was no anger in his eyes, no malice, no annoyance. They were just... open, and looking at Jackson.

And Jackson knew that Derek understood.


	5. Calm

**Chapter 5: Calm **

"I like these calm little moments before the storm.  
It reminds me of Beethoven.  
Can you hear it?  
It's like when you put your head to the grass  
And you can hear the growin'  
And you can hear the insects."  
—Stansfield, _Léon: The Professional_

* * *

Having an affair with Derek Hale turned out to be considerably more difficult than Jackson had thought it would be. Of course, since having an affair with Derek Hale was something that _directly involved Derek Hale,_ Jackson probably should have anticipated that. After all, where Derek was concerned, what _wasn't _difficult? Everything about Derek, every part of Jackson's life that had been touched by Derek was difficult... why would fucking him be any easier?

It wasn't that the actual fucking was difficult. No, they were fine in that area. More than fine, really. Great. It was everything else, that was the problem.

The biggest problem was actually scheduling. Even without lacrosse and the swim team, Jackson's time was still eaten up by school and Lydia, and Derek's time was eaten up by his pack and... other things, he supposed. Honestly, Jackson wasn't really sure what Derek did in his free time. He knew he had to spend his time doing _something. _Obviously Derek didn't just spend his days sitting alone in the dark, glaring at the walls of his loft... probably. He probably didn't do that.

Maybe Jackson would ask, the next time he saw him.

In a typical week, the only time Derek and Jackson would see each other was during training. They were able to steal hours here and there after sessions, but there was only so much they could do in that dirty little basement. There was no bed, no real place to lie or sit down, and there were only many so many times Jackson was willing to get fucked with his hands braced against a concrete wall.

Jackson began spending most of his free time at school listening in on conversations held by Isaac, Scott and Stiles, hoping to overhear something that indicated Isaac wouldn't be spending the night at Derek's. So far he'd had little to no luck, and it was getting to the point where if he had to overhear one more debate over who should be King or Queen on _Game of Thrones, _or which comic company had the better villains, Marvel or DC, he was going to tear out his own throat. Death was nothing compared to this agony, he knew that first hand.

Hooking up after training sessions was becoming more difficult as well. There was only so many times Derek could hold Jackson back for "extra training" before it began to look suspicious. Similarly, Jackson wasn't sure how many times he could just dawdle and lag behind the others, before they began to notice that he never left with them.

The next time they met for training, Jackson decided to give himself an excuse to go back, and purposefully left behind his jacket. He left with the others, and stopped when they reached the mouth of the alley. "Shit, I forgot my jacket," Jackson said, trying to look and sound pained. "I have to go back for it." Obviously he wasn't going to be winning any awards for his performance, but he thought they bought it.

Jackson turned around, not bothering to tell them to go ahead without him—they would on their own, he knew. They had no reason to wait for him. It wasn't as if they ever hung out afterwards. Well, Erica, Boyd and Isaac might, but if they did they'd never invited him (not that he would have said yes, if they had).

Just as he was beginning to congratulate himself on his brilliant plan, Erica called after him. "Hey, wait, I forgot my shoes. I gotta go back too," She said. Jackson stopped in his tracks, and grimaced. _So fucking close. _The universe hated him, this was proof.

Wiping the grimace off his face, Jackson turned around. "You forgot your _shoes_?" He asked. As far as he could see, she was wearing a perfectly fine looking pair of running shoes.

Erica glared at him, walking back down the alley towards him. Boyd trailed behind her, obviously planning on accompanying her. Only Isaac seemed intent on leaving. "What, you can't wait five minutes for us, Lahey?" Erica asked, crossing her arms.

Isaac grinned, and shrugged one shoulder. "I'm sleeping over at Scott's tonight," Jackson felt his heart skip a beat, "And I said I'd be over when training ended. We're doing pizza and video games with Stiles," Jackson saw Boyd and Erica exchange looks, and Erica rolled her eyes.

Jackson turned away, praying no one could hear the way his heartbeat had just sped up. It didn't seem as if any of them had noticed anything, and if they had, they gave no indication. "Well, I mean it's supposed to be studying," Isaac was saying, "But pizza and video games is what usually happens."

"How lovely for you," Erica said. "Try and fit us into your schedule later this week, will you?"

Isaac grinned again, and shot a finger gun in their direction. "I'll do that." He exited the alleyway and disappeared from view, and Jackson, Erica and Boyd made their way back to the basement. Boyd and Erica chatted about their plans for the evening, but Jackson tuned them out, quietly contemplating his sudden good fortune. Perhaps this was the universe's way of apologizing to him. It had a hell of a long way to go, but this was a start.

Jackson felt someone touch his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. "What?"

"Uh, I just asked what your plans were, for tonight?" Boyd said, looking slightly taken aback. "What are you gonna do?"

At that moment, the basement door opened, and out stepped Derek. He looked surprised, to find them all standing there. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Boyd explained, as Erica ducked under Derek's arm and went down into the basement. "Erica forget her shoes, and Jackson left his jacket."

"And you're what, escorting them?" Derek asked, raising his eyebrows.

Boyd nodded soberly. "Alleys are dangerous places. You never know what kind of lunatics you'll run into there," He looked pointedly at Derek, who glared. Jackson tried and failed to hold in a laugh.

"Don't you have something to get?" Derek asked, turning his glare to Jackson. Jackson smirked at him, and then ducked inside after Erica. The basement was dark, and it took his eyes a minute to adjust. Once they had, however, he found that his jacket wasn't where he left it.

"I've got it," Erica said, climbing out of the subway train and hanging him his jacket. She had a pair of black pumps in her hand, and looked pissed. "He moved our stuff," She told him. "I found them in a pile, in there," She jerked her head back to the train, and walked past Jackson to the basement's exist. Jackson followed. The alleyway now seemed much too bright, in comparison to the dark basement. Jackson had to squint, to keep his eyes from stinging.

"You moved our stuff," Erica said, looking accusingly at Derek. He simply stared at her, uncomprehending. "Which means you _saw _our stuff, noticed we'd left it?" More staring. "You couldn't have _brought _it to us?" Derek shrugged, and Erica scoffed. "Is this a werewolf thing, or is common courtesy just beneath you?" She looked at Boyd, and together they walked off, leaving Jackson and Derek alone in the alleyway.

Jackson waited a few minutes before he said anything, just to be sure that Erica and Boyd were out of hearing range. Then he turned to Derek, and told him what he'd learned. "Isaac is sleeping at McCalls again," He said.

"What, really?" Jackson nodded vigourously. Derek just shook his head, and scoffed. "You know, he never tells me anything. I mean how hard would it have been to mention that during training?" Derek raised his eyebrows, and Jackson stared at him for a moment before he realized Derek was actually expecting an answer.

"I don't know," Jackson said, scratching the back of his head. This hadn't exactly been the reaction he'd been hoping for. Obviously Derek was not sitting around obsessing about the next time they'd be able to be together, the way Jackson was. Not that he'd really expected him to be, but still... "It probably slipped his mind, during all the punching and kicking and pain."

Derek shook his head again, and crossed his arms over his chest. Evidently this was not nearly a good enough excuse for him. "Well, I take it you're coming over then, right?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, that was sort of the plan," Jackson muttered, glancing from Derek to the ground, and back up again. "If you don't mind."

Derek rolled his eyes at Jackson, in that way that he had where his entire body moved with him. He grabbed Jackson by the scruff of his collar, and hauled him off down the alleyway. "Come on, I'll drive," He said.

Jackson took that to mean he didn't mind.

* * *

Before Derek had moved in to it, the building that his loft was in had been abandoned. Derek had purchased the entire building, although so far he had only bothered to renovate the one area. For this Jackson was grateful, because if Derek had had any neighbours, he was sure that they would have called the cops. It probably sounded like he was being murdered.

"Oh god, stop—stop _please,_" Jackson begged, gripping Derek's sheets so tightly that he kept ripping them. "Oh my god, _no don't actually stop you asshole! _You better—ah, _ohfuck..._"

He was bent over the side of Derek's bed, while Derek was behind him, gripping his hips so tightly that Jackson thought he'd have bruises for the next week. Derek may not have been sitting around obsessing over when he would be able to see him next, but evidently he was just as keen as Jackson to take advantage of the opportunity.

They'd been doing this for hours already, moving haphazardly from the bed, to the couch, onto the floor and then back over to the bed (there'd been a brief interlude involving the kitchen counter, but that had ended quickly, out of respect for Isaac, as Derek pointed out that there was where he tended to eat breakfast. Also, the angle was all wrong). At some point a table had been knocked over, and although Jackson wasn't entirely sure how that happened, there was a dull ache in his left leg that gave him an idea.

Honestly, Jackson didn't really even know how many times he'd come already. He just knew that it had happened a lot; sometimes with Derek inside of him, sometimes into Derek's mouth or hand... or into his own hand, as he used his mouth on Derek.

What Jackson _did _know was that it wasn't enough. He needed _more, _so much more than this. Jackson wasn't sure what that meant, wasn't sure what the fuck he was looking for, or waiting for—waiting to feel—but he was sure that if anyone could give it to him, it was Derek. He just hadn't yet. But Jackson wouldn't stop trying, because he thought he could feel himself getting _close. _

So close.

Jackson buried his face into Derek's mattress as he came, muffling his screams against the shredded sheets as the orgasm hit him, hard and fast and brutal, as if he'd slammed head first into a brick wall. In his ecstasy, his senses seemed to hyper-focus on Derek. He could hear Derek's breathing quicken, hear his heart pounding inside his chest. Derek's fingers bit into Jackson's hips as he finished inside of him, and when he groaned it vibrated in Jackson's head as if he was hearing it in surround sound.

After a bit of cleaning up, Derek and Jackson collapsed on the bed together. "I definitely... definitely cannot do that again," Jackson declared, running his fingers through his hair. Even that seemed to take more effort than it was worth, and he left his hand flop back down onto the bed. "That was the last time, forever. I'm done."

Beside him, Jackson heard Derek snicker quietly. "You'll be begging me to fuck you _at least _twice more before morning." He said, running his fingers gently up and down Jackson's arm.

Jackson smiled. "Possibly."

As Jackson allowed himself to be pulled into Derek's arms and roughly spooned, he heard the rumble of thunder off in the distance. "Guess that storm's finally hitting," He mumbled, his eyelids drooping shut.

"Hmm?"

"The storm. S'been building for weeks..." Jackson yawned loudly. "I can hear it coming." Derek said nothing, and a few minutes later Jackson heard drops of rain pinging against the windows of Derek's loft. "See, told you."

Derek just kissed the back of Jackson's shoulder, and murmured. "I guess you're right."

Sleepily, Jackson smiled to himself.

They both slept for a while then, and when Jackson woke up (unsurprised to find himself half-hard, and feeling that familiar ache, the one that called out for Derek, growing in his belly) he found that the rain was already slowing to a lazy drizzle, making little rivers run down the windows. He wondered if this was all there would be, but when he heard another rumble of thunder a moment later, he had his answer. The thunder was closer now, and that could only mean that of the storm that had been building for weeks, what he was seeing now was only the beginning.

* * *

**A/N: I may end up updating twice this week, because this chapter is largely filler/set-up. And so is the next one, ish. Next week is also has the first of several Allison POV's, which is super weird because she hasn't even appeared in the story at all yet! But hey she's there, and she will be important. And by "important" I mean "important to the plot. The plot that this fanfiction does have." Are you excited? I'm excited. **


	6. Darkness

**Chapter 6: Darkness **

"I am terrified by this dark thing  
That sleeps in me;  
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity."  
—Sylvia Plath, _Elm._

Allison drummed her fingers against the kitchen table, trying and failing to concentrate on her english homework. She was supposed to be reading chapters five and six of "The Catcher in the Rye," but what she'd really been reading was the same sentence, over and over again, for the last 10 minutes or so.

_I slept in the garage the night he died, _Allison read, for the umpteenth time. She just couldn't seem to concentrate, and she wasn't even sure why. It was though she could feel some kind of tension in the air, and all week long she'd been unable to shake the feeling that something was coming... or already here. She didn't know what, or how, nor could she explain why she felt this way. All she knew was that it wasn't going away.

_I slept in the garage the night he died. _

More than anything, Allison wished she could talk to her Dad about this, this gut feeling that something was wrong. But she knew if she tried, he'd just remind her of the deal they'd made, how they'd both agreed that they were done with things like this. They were living normal lives, free from unshakable feelings of impending doom.

Or, that was the idea, at least. In reality it was proving hell of a lot harder to follow through on. And as much as Allison told herself she was being ridiculous, told herself that she'd been at least somewhat normal for 16 years of her life, and a hunter for only a few months—she was beginning to think that this might just be a part of her now. It wasn't something she could just turn off, like flicking a switch.

Sometimes she wasn't sure what scared her more; the thought that this was just who she was now... or the thought that this was what she really _wanted _to be. Was she unable to turn it off because it was inside of her... or because she was afraid to lose it?

_I slept in the garage the night he died. _

* * *

Allison's dreams that night were troublesome. Strange images coming at her at the speed of light, jumbled and bizarre but somehow terrifying. It was still the middle of the night when she was jolted awake, gasping and sweating, and feeling strangely nauseous.

Allison sat up in her bed, breathing in slowly through her nose, trying to slow her heart rate. They were just dreams, she reminded herself, nothing that could hurt her. And already, she was unable to even remember what they'd been about. There'd been a knife, she thought... definitely something about a knife. But that was all that was left, nothing more.

Slowly, her heart rate returned to normal. Allison lay back down in her bed, and stared up at her ceiling as she let the sound of the rain hitting her window calm her. It had been raining on and off like this for over a week now, and while it was a pain in the ass when she was rushing out the door to school, completely forgetting to bring an umbrella, she was glad for it now.

Soothed by the sound of the rain outside, Allison closed her eyes, turned onto her side and dreamed no more that night.

* * *

Across town from Allison, Jackson was not finding himself so lucky.

In his dreams, he was drowning in darkness.

The darkness surrounded him, pressed in on him from all sides, cold and wet. He couldn't breath, because he knew that if he drew breath it would let the darkness in, and he would choke on it. All he could do was sink down lower into it, grasping uselessly above him. He'd never felt so helpless before, except for all of the other times this had happened.

It had happened before, Jackson knew, although it did not comfort him. Many times before, if he thought about it. How many times? Had he grown up his whole life, having this dream? Was he reliving a memory, over and over, unable to move past it? Was it possible this fear had always been with him?

It had been, he knew. It had always been this way.

The dream changed. The wet, chlorinated darkness drained away and left him dry in his bed. And not alone.

The dream changed, but the feeling of absolute helplessness did not leave. Nor did the suffocating, choking feeling. It was different, less literal... no less strong. The hands on his body told him they wanted him, that he was so special and so beautiful, and all his... and Jackson could not resist them. Had not even wanted to resist them. What he would have given, to have been allowed to resist. To struggle.

There was a massive clap of thunder, and Jackson woke up in his bed, alone. He was unsurprised to find that he was crying.

Jackson sat up and put his head in his hands, making no effort to quell the tears running down his face. He'd thought this was over. Or, he'd hoped... it had been so long, he'd hoped his nightmares were over. He'd gone over a month without one, over a month without a single gut wrenching nightmare... and then suddenly they were back.

Every night for the last week Jackson had been forced, in his sleep, to relive the worst memories he had. Memories that belong to him, and a few that did not, but were just as terrible to experience again as the ones that were. The nightmares were more vivid than they'd even been, and Jackson was not sure how much long he would be able to stand them, before they drove him insane.

* * *

School had become even more of a chore than usual. Jackson was exhausted, and he felt like absolute shit. And it might have been his might imagination, but he didn't think he was the only one either. In every one of his classes there were kids sitting with their heads down at their desks, sleeping or maybe just unable to think of a reason good enough to sit upright. Just in the time it took him to walk to the cafeteria for lunch, Jackson passed two kids slamming their heads against their lockers, and was almost knocked down by a girl as she ran tearfully past him.

Inside the cafeteria Jackson found Lydia already at a table, lightly sprinkling dressing onto her salad. Allison was sitting with her, and Jackson felt an uncomfortable _swoop _in his gut. Of all the pieces of Matt that had been left in his head, he was thankful that his insane romantic obsession with Allison was not one of them. That didn't stop Jackson from feeling awkward when he was around her, as he could still remember the way Matt would think about her, all the images of her he had in his head... not to mention, the incident in the shower. Just thinking about how much Matt had enjoyed that made the bile rise up in his throat.

If Allison was holding any of that against him, she gave no signs of it as he arrived at the table. She was sitting across from Lydia, an unwrapped sandwich in front of her, and a familiar exhausted look on her face.

"Hey," Jackson said, greeting Lydia with a kiss on the cheek. "Hey, Allison," Allison nodded in acknowledgement, absently picking at the crust of her sandwich. "No offence, but you look like crap."

"Jackson!" Lydia exclaimed. "That's incredibly rude," She pursed her lips, and looked Allison over. "I mean, he's not exactly wrong, but it's still rude to say so." Lydia paused. "No offence."

Allison shook her head. "Okay, you guys know that just because you say 'no offence,' it doesn't make what you're saying any less offensive." Jackson and Lydia shrugged, and Allison sighed. "I haven't been sleeping very well lately," She explained, running her fingers through her hair. "I've been having some weird dreams—"

"_Really?" _Jackson asked, before he could stop himself. "I mean... how long has that been going on for? The dreams?"

Allison chewed on her bottom lip, considering the question. "Uh, they started a few days ago, I guess. Why?"

Jackson looked away, scratching at the back of his neck. "No reason," He muttered. Allison and Lydia both raised their eyebrows. "I've just, I've been having some weird dreams too, lately. Nightmares, I guess."

"You have? Why haven't you told me about that before?" Lydia asked, rubbing the back of his neck with her hand. Her hand was soft and small, not big and rough like Derek's. He hated himself for comparing them, but he couldn't help it. And there was no denying which one he preferred.

Jackson shrugged. "I don't know, it didn't seem important."

"Of course it's important, Jackson." She said quietly. She smiled. "And what's more, I know _exactly _how to help." She removed her hand from Jackson's neck, and began rummaging around in her bag. "What you need—what you _both _need, is a distraction," She said, pulling out a light blue piece of paper. "And I have the perfect one," She laid the paper out onto the table in front of them, and smoothed it flat.

"Prom?" Allison asked, turning her head to get a better look at the flyer. "I didn't know they'd started putting these up already."

"They haven't yet, they'll be up in a few days," Lydia said. "I know someone on the Prom committee."

"How is Prom going to distract us?" Jackson asked. "The flyer says it's not for two months."

Lydia grinned widely. "But it's _never _to early to start campaigning."

"For... ?"

"King and Queen," Jackson groaned, but Lydia raised her hand to silence him. "No, we are doing this, Jackson. It'll be _good _for us."

"How is that supposed to help me?" Allison interrupted. "I mean, I'll vote for you guys, obviously, but otherwise I don't really..." She trailed off, shrugging.

"When you say 'good for us,'" Jackson said, "Do you mean good for _us, _or do you meangood for our reputations?" He cast a guilty look at Allison, realizing he'd entirely ignored that she'd spoken.

"_Both, _Jackson. It will help distract you from your troubles, _and_ help remind the people in this school that we're still alive, and still the best," Jackson rolled his eyes, but decided nothing good would come from contradicting her.

Lydia turned to Allison. "And we'll need all the help we can get, Allison. Making flyers, handing out buttons, and picking out the dress I'll wear when we win. You'll have lots to do."

Allison gave Lydia a tight-lipped smile. "Can't wait," She said.

Jackson folded his arms against his chest, and slumped back in his chair. "Yeah, me neither," He muttered. Lydia and Allison continued to talk about Prom (_did Allison think she and Scott would be back together by then? Because if they were, they could all take a limo together_), and as conversation turned to criticizing the outfits of the new transfer students (_"I'm being serious," Lydia insisted, "You cannot trust anyone who wears a poncho. The other two are just as bad—sunglasses? In doors, all the time? Does she think she's in a rock band?"_) Jackson allowed himself to zone out.

Once his mind had drifted away from Lydia's horror at their peers attire (_"—and don't even get me started on the _Penelope_ wannabe, how she can even breath under that scarf is beyond me..."_) as usual, they turned to Derek. Since the start of the storm the week before, they'd spent no time alone together. Part of Jackson was convinced that that was the cause of his nightmares. If he could just relieve some of the stress he was feeling, maybe they would go away.

There was training after school today, maybe Jackson could find some way to slip Derek a note, asking him to meet him somewhere later... the woods, or maybe they could park Derek's car somewhere and do it in there. Neither of those options were particularly appealing to Jackson, but then neither was reliving another night with Matt. Jackson shivered. No, he wasn't sure how much more of that he could handle at all.

What he would give, to be able to forget it all again. But dwelling on it wouldn't help, and Jackson forced his train of thoughts back to Derek.

Maybe they could get a hotel room. People did that, didn't they? They could split the bill, pay cash... that way they could even spend the night together. He wouldn't have to face another night alone with the dark. The more Jackson thought about it, the more he began to like the idea.

"Jackson? Hello?" Jackson jumped, startled by the sound of Lydia's voice. Lydia raised her eyebrows, regarding him curiously. "What were you thinking about?"

"Uh, nothing," Jackson said, slipping his arm over her shoulder. He smiled, trying to push down the sickening guilt he suddenly felt. Lydia deserved so much better than him, he knew that. He'd failed her too many times to count. "Just, how excited I am for prom,"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Liar," She said, shaking her head.

Jackson swallowed, feeling ill. "Yeah," he muttered, hating himself more by the second. "I am."

* * *

**A/N: **Yay second update this week! Yay Allison! Boo, no Derek! But yay, plot!


	7. Thunder

**Chapter 7: Thunder**

"Back to front the blade tastes blunt,  
In the safety of your bedroom.  
No desire to touch the fire,  
It's just a, just a sad obsession."  
_—_The Damned,_ Feel the Pain_

* * *

The storm had finally reached its climax; the wind was howling, rain was coming down in buckets and the sky was so dark it almost seemed as if it were night. Beacon Hills Highshcool was in a state of pandemonium; classes had been ended early due to the storm, and all the students were being evacuated. Those with cars were encouraged to carpool with as many of their peers as they could, and students with no means of transportation were being marshalled into the gym while the teachers rushed around trying to find alternative arrangements, since none of the school buses were running.

The hallways were filled with chattering students, and the noise was driving Jackson insane. He kept picking up snatches of conversations he didn't want to hear, and found himself unable to keep anything out.

"—_of course this happens when I _just_ had my hair done, it's so fruggin' typical—"_

"—what if no one can come get me? I don't want to spend the night here! You 'member what happened the last time students spent the night here!?—"

"—_thank fucking god man, there was _no way_ I coulda done that calculous test today, _no way_—" _

The teacher's weren't helping either. Mrs. Thompson, the frizzy haired geography teacher, was running up and down the hallways shouting at people not to panic, while not bothering to follow her own advice in the least. Mr. Harris, who was assisting with the evacuation, had reached such a state of frustration that he was mixing in harsh insults with all of his directions. `

"_Mr. Keller's ninth grade math class, is not a single solitary one of you bright enough to follow an instruction as simple as _stay in a single file and follow your teacher through the doors on the left?_ I guess I should have expected as much; if you had more than a handful of braincells all together I'd be talking to Miss. Drummer's ninth grade _AP_ math class!"_

Jackson clamped his hands over his ears, trying to tune out his chemistry teachers grating monotone voice. It hardly helped.

"Jackson! _Jackson!_" Jackson spun around, hearing someone call his name. He scanned his eyes around the crowd, and found Lydia fighting his way towards him. It occurred to him that he probably should have been looking for her. "Oh _thank god, _I've been looking for you everywhere!" Lydia said as she reached him. Despite the chaos around them, not a single red hair was out of place.

"Yeah, me too—I mean, for you—" Jackson lied.

Lydia smiled at him, and gave him a quick kiss on his mouth. "I've got to run, I've got a full car of people I'm supposed to be taking home,"

Jackson furrowed his brow. "Is that safe, for you to be driving all over town?"

"They're all in my neighbourhood," Lydia explained. "Well, except Tanner, but he's going to stay over at Doug's house,"

"Who?"

"Tanner and Doug," She repeated, as if saying their names again would instantly clue Jackson in to their identities. "I have to go, everyone's waiting for me, I just wanted to make sure you were alright, and had a ride home." She raised her eyebrows. "You do, right? Because I can always kick out Tanner."

"Yeah, I've got my Porsche."

"Good. Well, I'll see you later then," She said, kissing him again. "Drive safe!" She turned around and forced her way back through the crowd of students.

Jackson waited a moment, took deep a breath, and then plunged in as well.

"—_ten dollars says that vein in Harris' forehead is gonna pop by the end of the day, for real—"_

"—swear to fucking god if I don't get the fuck out of here soon my head is

literally_ going to explode—"_

"—_sure it's cool with I crash with you? I mean, I don't want to overstay my welcome." _

Jackson stopped in his tracks, recognizing the voice as Isaac's voice, which caused the person walking behind him to crash into his back. (_"Hey, watch where you're going, guy!"_) Jackson ignored him, and searched through the din for the voice he'd just heard.

Finally, he found him. "Because I stayed over like, two weeks ago, remember?" Isaac was saying. "Are you sure it's not—"

"Dude, it's _fine!_" Scott told him. Jackson could picture him smiling, clapping Isaac on the back. "I mean come on, it's crazy out there. No way my Mom would want you have to get all the way down to Derek's with the weather like this."

"Alright, if you're sure..." Isaacs voice faded out, and Jackson lost them. It didn't matter, he'd heard what he needed to hear.

With renewed determination, Jackson bolted through the crowd and out of the school.

* * *

Jackson sped down to Derek's building as quickly as he could without killing himself on the slick roads, or attracting the attention of a cop (somehow he didn't think Sheriff Stilinski would accept "I really need to get laid" as a permissible reason for breaking the law. The fact that Derek was an ex-fugitive, probably wouldn't help, either. Or that Jackson was legally a minor). When he got there he hastily parked his car in the alleyway next to the building, and then covered his head with his bag as he ran back out into the rain. He'd only barely dried off from his first trip from the school to his car, and with in the five seconds that it took to run from the alleyway and into the building, he was soaking wet again.

When Derek first opened the door—after Jackson had banged furiously on it for a full minute—he looked surprised. Then his eyes narrowed. "Where's Isaac?" There was a suspicious tone to his voice, as though he suspected Jackson may have murdered Isaac just to get some privacy.

"Hello to you, too," Jackson rolled his eyes as he barrelled in past Derek, dropping his bag off by the door.

"Hello," Derek said, "Where's Isaac?"

"He's with Scott," Jackson explained. "I overheard Scott telling him it was too dangerous for him to come all the way down here in the storm, so he's staying there for the night."

Derek stared at him blankly. "You can't be serious."

"No, that's what I heard..."

"So you're saying that you overheard someone saying that it was _too dangerous _to come all the way down here, in this weather, and your first thought," Derek raised his eyebrows, "Was to do _exactly _that?"

Jackson shrugged. "Didn't think about it, I guess. I mean, I survived, didn't I?"

Derek shook his head. "That's not the point, idiot." He muttered. He walked over, and ran his fingers through Jackson's wet hair, frowning. "You're soaking wet, how long were you out there?" Jackson shrugged again. He felt as if he should say something witty, or biting, but gave up trying to think of what after a moment of half-hearted searching. Derek's hands were nice and warm, and he had to begun to rub the back of Jackson's neck. It sort of felt like heaven, on his chilled skin. "We should get you out of these clothes." He said, non-nonchalantly. "Wouldn't want you to get hypothermia."

"Okay," Jackson said. He wasted no time stripping off his jacket, tossing it over to the door so it landed in a heap on top of his bag. Then he began to undress.

If Jackson seemed eager, it was only because he was. Even more so than usual. It had been two full weeks since they'd been together (he'd wound up deciding that the hotel idea was stupid, and had said nothing that day) and Jackson had just about reached a breaking a point. He'd been getting less and less sleep every night, desperate to avoid nightmares of drowning, and of killing and of being killed. And worst of all, of Matt and his prying hands and his roaming mouth.

But no matter how hard he tried to resist, sleep always took him eventually. And Matt was always waiting for him.

Jackson needed a distraction. He needed to feel something, something other than weakness or misery. He _desperately _needed to get off, and although he wasn't keen to admit it, he needed comfort.

He needed Derek.

As Jackson undressed, Derek stood in front of him and watched, silently. After he'd discarded his shirt, Jackson stared back up at Derek, refusing to feel embarrassed as he unbuttoned his jeans, and pushed them down to his ankles. After a moment's hesitation, he removed his underwear and socks, and dropped them in the pile of clothes at his feet. Then he looked Derek in the eye, and waited.

"Hand me your clothes," Derek said.

"What? Why?" Jackson asked, bending down and quickly scooping up the pile.

"I'm going to put them in the dryer," Derek took the bundle from him, and disappeared up the spiral staircase, leaving Jackson standing completely naked in the middle of his loft.

Jackson just stood there, slowly realizing that it was actually extremely chilly in the apartment. Was there a draft somewhere? Jackson shivered, feeling his skin break out in goosebumps. Worse than the chill was how very exposed (_and vulnerable_) he felt, standing in the open like he was. For a moment he was torn between wrapping his arms over his chest for warmth, or covering himself up. His refusal to feel embarrassment was working just about as well as it would work if he'd decided to refuse to feel the cold.

Jackson wound up compromising, and when Derek descended back down the stairs, he was cupping himself in one hand, for cover, and sort of rubbing his bicep with the other, for warmth.

When Derek saw him, he made a noise that Jackson thought may have been a laugh. It also have been him clearing his throat. It was difficult to tell, although the look in his eye was definitely making Jackson lean towards laughter.

Against his will, Jackson felt his face turn red.

"You look pathetic," Derek said, striding over to him. He certainly sounded amused.

"And that's different from how I usually look in what way, exactly?" Jackson asked, trying to sound tough and defiant.

Derek just smirked at him, and began rubbing the back of Jackson's neck like he'd been doing before. This time Jackson had to physically stop himself from melting into his touch. Jackson was so cold, and Derek felt so fucking warm, and good. His hand was rough, but his touch was gentle. Jackson could have killed him for it, for how good it felt.

"Jesus, you're freezing," Derek murmured. He no longer sounded amused.

Hand still on the back of Jackson's neck, Derek tugged him forward, pulling him against his chest and wrapping his arms around him. And Jackson simply could not help himself from relaxing instantly into them. Nor could he stop himself from whimpering as Derek inclined his head, and began covering Jackson's neck in rough, hungry kisses. "I couldn't really get hypothermia though, right?" He mumbled. There was a sort of vague numbness in his toes, that was beginning to worry him.

"You could," Derek said, speaking against Jackson's neck.

"_What?"_

Derek pulled back, and raised an eyebrow. "We're werewolves, Jackson. Not superheroes. You're not invulnerable."

"Oh..."

"I wouldn't worry about it _now,_" Derek continued. Now that he wasn't kissing him, he'd resumed gently rubbing the back of Jackson's neck. Jackson did not mind. "It would be a lot more difficult for you to become hypothermic than it would if you were still human. A lot more than some rain and wet clothes."

Jackson nodded slowly. "But it is possible,"

"There's a point that you reach, where your body becomes so overwhelmed that it can't heal itself anymore." Derek took his hand from the back of Jackson's neck, and cupped his chin instead. "So don't be an idiot, okay?" Jackson opened his mouth to snap that he _wasn't _an idiot, but Derek tilted his chin up expose his neck and began kissing it once more, and the words died on his lips. Hypothermia wasn't important, anyways. What was important was Derek's mouth, kissing from curve of his neck right up to the line of his jaw.

At first it had been a surprise to Jackson, the way Derek liked to kiss him. His neck, along his jawline, down his chest... On his knees, Derek would spread Jackson's legs in front of him and kiss from the inside of Jackson's knee all up along his thigh. He would look up at Jackson with cool eyes as he kissed the head of his cock, before taking him into his mouth. Derek kissed his shoulders, and the back of his neck as he fucked him, and he kissed his forehead when he was done, and Jackson was lying in his arms exhausted, embarrassed and finally satisfied.

The only part of him that Derek had not kissed—the only part that Jackson had denied to him—was his mouth. Jackson couldn't say why he denied Derek that, not any more than he could explain why it gave him such comfort, that Derek had never tried to take it.

Now, it was Jackson who was on his knees, and he had neither the patience nor the willpower to take his time with kisses and coyness. Perhaps if Derek allowed him this more often, he'd have it in him to take it slowly. As it was, he was far too eager to sate his own hunger, to even consider it.

Derek had always been quick to go down on Jackson, quick to take him in his mouth as he pushed his fingers inside of him, opening him up before sex. He was quick to give lazy, sloppy blow jobs after they'd already fucked for hours, and had come more times than either of them could count, and Jackson was certain that he couldn't—physically _couldn't—_come again, only to be proved wrong every time. And as quick as he was to use his mouth on Jackson at every opportunity, he was just as hesitant to let Jackson touch him the same way. If he'd wanted, Jackson could count the times he'd gone down on Derek on one hand.

But Derek had allowed him to now, and he intended to make the most out of the opportunity.

Jackson was not a talented person. He'd once thought he was, considered himself talented, exceptional, even the best at certain things. But that had been another life, and that person had died. The person he was now knew better. He had little to offer the world, and even less to offer Derek.

But this—this he did have. This he was good at, and he desperately wanted to show that to Derek. Show him that he had a use, that there was a reason for Derek to keep letting him come around. He could give Derek something, something he wanted. Something he could not get from any other person, besides Jackson.

Jackson looked up at Derek as he sucked him off, enjoying the sight; Derek's face was flushed, and his hair stuck up in different direction, from the way he'd run his fingers through it. His other hand was in Jackson's hair, gripping tightly at the back of his head. Something about the way it quivered made Jackson think Derek was holding himself back, stopping himself from pushing Jackson's head further down, forcing his dick even deeper into his throat than it already was. Jackson wished he wouldn't hold back like that, from exactly what Jackson ached for.

Derek was not breathing heavily, but Jackson listened closely and focused on the sound of his breath, until it was amplified in his head. It was quiet, but ragged, and every now and then he would make a noise that was almost a gasp. Jackson listened and heard Derek's heart beat faster, heard his blood pound in his veins and knew it was because of him. Because he _was _good at this. Very, very good.

_(And small, cruel voice deep in Jackson's brain whispered _'practice makes perfect,' _but Jackson would not hear that voice. Not right now)._

With one hand Jackson stroked Derek off, moving it in unison with his mouth as he listened, careful and close, listened to what made Derek's breath quicken and his heart pound, listened for the small, almost pained groans that every now and then escaped from Derek's open mouth. His other hand, Jackson used on himself. By the time Derek came into Jackson's mouth, his hand tightening painfully on Jackson's scalp, Jackson had already come twice himself.

Jackson swallowed, relishing the burning at the back of his throat. He pulled away from Derek, and looked up at him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Derek's eyes were wide and his pupils dilated, and he stared down at Jackson with a slightly stunned look. Jackson smirked up at him, feeling extremely pleased with himself. "You—" The way the word stuck in Derek's throat, Jackson would replay in his head for weeks afterwards. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," Jackson said simply. He leaned in, and placed a soft kiss on the head of Derek's prone dick, just as Derek would do to him.

* * *

**A/N: The next chapter will be a direct continuation of this one. **


	8. Lightning

**Chapter 8: Lightning**

"Sleep heavily and know that I am here with you now.  
The past is gone, and cannot harm you anymore.  
And while the future is fast coming for you,  
It always flinches first, and settles in as the gentle present.  
This now, this _us_, we can cope with that."  
—Cecil Palmer, _Welcome to Nightvale_

* * *

"No, Mom, it's fine if I spend the night at Danny's, really. Don't worry."

Derek watched as Jackson rolled his eyes, obviously exasperated with his mother, and her concern for his safety. He paced around the loft as they spoke, wearing only his boxer shorts (which he had insisted on putting on before making the call to his mother. In turn, Derek had reluctantly pulled back on his sweatpants, although he had forgone underwear as it seemed unnecessary).

Outside the loft the rain continued to come down in sheets, and the flares of lightening frequently lit up the room with bright yellow light.

Jackson pressed his finger against his ear, as another loud rumble of thunder drowned out his mothers voice. They had been speaking for roughly five minutes now, which by the look on Jackson's face was about four minutes and thirty seconds too long.

"I'll call you in the morning, alright? I'll be fine. Bye."

Jackson hung up on his mother, and flopped back on the bed with a sigh. He tossed his cellphone away, and seemed unconcerned when it bounced off the bed and clattered to the floor. "Great, now I have a headache," He muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "_Why_ does she have to ask so many questions?"

There were a lot of things Derek could say to that, absolutely none of which Jackson would listen to. Instead of bothering, Derek smacked him upside the head.

"Hey!" Jackson cried, bolting up and staring at Derek with furious, glowing blue eyes. Derek felt a sinking feeling in his chest, and almost immediately regretted hitting him. It was one thing, when they were training, or sparring, but now... he'd promised himself he'd be better than that now. He was supposed to be less hostile, less violent. "What the hell was that for?!"

For a moment, Derek considered an apology. That's what he should do, admit he was wrong and promise not to do it again.

"For being an asshole," Was what he wound up saying to Jackson. Admitting fault was something easier said than done. He try to would work on that, too.

The blue glow faded from Jackson's eyes, but the glare remained on his face. "_I'm _an asshole?" Jackson's jaw was clenched tight, and he spoke with a slow, angry deliberation. "You're the _king _asshole. No, you're the _alpha _asshole. You—" He poked Derek in the chest. "Don't get to call _me _an asshole, asshole."

There was an excited glint in Jackson's eyes that undercut his harsh tone. Derek knew he was trying to provoke him. Ignoring his jabs, Derek reached forward to run his thumb over a hickey on Jackson's neck. "This is already starting to fade," He noted. "We should do something about that."

Cupping his hand against the back of Jackson's neck, Derek leaned him back against his headboard and placed his lips against the faded bruise that he had left several hours prior. Jackson's eyelids slid shut. "Mmm, no... don't do that..."

The hair on the back of Derek's neck stood up, and he pulled away. The second he did, Jackson's eyelids flew open again. "For fuck's sake, _I didn't mean that!_"

Derek shook his head, exasperated. "And how am I supposed to know that?" It felt like they'd already had this conversation a dozen times already.

"Because I _never mean it! Why _is that so freaking difficult for you to understand?" Jackson cried. It almost amazed Derek how quickly Jackson could go from completely relaxed to violently angry. "When I say 'stop,' or 'don't,' or whatever, I don't mean it, alright? I never mean it! Just ignore it, and _don't stop_,"

Derek ground his teeth. "I can't do that, Jackson," He breathed out through his nose, trying to stay calm, no matter how frustrating Jackson was. It would all be so much easier if Jackson would just _listen _to him for a change, instead of screaming his head off when he didn't get what he wanted.

Jackson threw his arms up in the air, as though _he _was the one who had any right to be exasperated. "Oh right _of course _not, because that would be too _friggin' _simple—"

"If you would just SHUT UPand listen to me for a moment—" Derek shouted, feeling his eyes burn red. He could feel a vein pounding in his forehead, and obviously, had failed to stay calm. He breathed in again. Jackson, whose expression was caught somewhere in between a glare and a pout, waited quietly for him to speak. "I can't do that, because it's too..." He groped for the right word. "Dangerous." Jackson raised an eyebrow, and Derek decided that that had not been it. "No, that's not..." Derek sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm too scared, Jackson... I'm scared of doing something to you that you don't want."

"But I do—"

"But what if you don't?" Derek said, speaking over Jackson. "If I ignore you, when you say to stop... what if there's a time when you really mean it? When you really need to me to stop, for whatever reason? If you needed me to stop, and I didn't..." Derek looked away, shaking his head. "Don't you understand, that I can't hurt you like that, Jackson? I won't."

Derek glanced back at Jackson, and saw he'd drawn his knees up in front of him. He was chewing on his lip. "Hadn't really thought about that..." He said quietly.

Derek snorted. "Don't worry, I've thought about it enough for the both of us."

Jackson nodded slowly, a far away look in his eyes that made Derek think he hadn't actually heard what he'd just said. Derek sighed, and waited. He'd said what he'd had to say. Now it was Jackson's turn.

"What about a safety word?" Jackson said, after a moment of silence. He lifted his gaze to meet Derek's. "That way you'd know, if I really wanted you to stop."

"A safety word?" Derek raised his eyebrows.

"A word I could say to stop things, other than, you know, 'stop,'"

"I know what a safety word is," Derek grumbled. "I just never thought about having one for myself." He thought for a moment, but could find nothing wrong with the suggestion. "What would the word be?"

"What, I have to come up with everything?" Jackson picked up one of Derek's pillows, and flung it at him. "You think of something."

Derek rolled his eyes, swatting the pillow out of the way. "I don't know," He muttered.

"It could _literally _be any word, in any language,"

"Yes I know that, thank you." He glared at Jackson out of the corner of his eye, trying to think of something that would fit. "It should probably something short, easy to say... not something that would come up accidentally..." Derek sighed. "We should just pick something. What's the first word that comes to your mind?"

"Snicklefritz," Jackson replied. He appeared surprised by himself.

Derek stared at him. "_Snicklefritz?_" He repeated. "What the hell—is that even a word?"

"It was the first thing that came to mind," Jackson muttered, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "And it's not like it's the sort of thing that will come up accidentally." Derek raised his eyebrows at him. "I uh, I think it was the name of the cat on_ The Big Comfy Couch_?"

"The Big Comfy what?"

"_Big Comfy Couch,_" Jackson's face was turning increasingly red, and looked away, avoiding eye contact. Derek couldn't help but smile; he didn't think he'd ever seen Jackson so uncomfortable. "It was a show I watched when I was a kid, okay? I think it might have been Canadian..." He muttered. "We had illegal satellite... it picked up a lot of Canadian channels and shows..."

"Like a kid's show about a couch?"

"It was a really big couch, alright!" Jackson snapped. He looked up and glared at Derek, obviously angry that he was enjoying this so much. "It was about a clown, she had a couch, it was really big—"

"And comfy," Derek interrupted. Jackson's eyes turned blue, and for a moment Derek could have sworn he saw flames in them. He almost felt like laughing.

Jackson ground his teeth together. "You have a better suggestion?"

"I think any suggestion would be a better suggestion."

"Well I don't hear you chiming in with any—" Jackson broke off, and then snapped his fingers. "What about 'time out'?" He asked. The look on his face seemed to suggest this was a stroke of brilliance. Derek raised an eyebrow. "I don't mean time out like when you're a kid and you have to stand in the corner, I mean like... in sports, or something, when you call TO. Time out. It's perfect."

Derek squinted at him. "Why would you have to stand in the corner?"

"If you got in trouble... it was like a punishment."

"They'd make you stand in the corner for punishment?" Derek shook his head. "The more I learn about your childhood, the more you start to make sense to me, Jackson."

Jackson glowered. "We're not talking about my childhood anymore, alright?"

Derek chuckled. "Suit yourself. I guess 'time out' is fine then. Definitely better than _snicklefritz, _anyways." Jackson opened his mouth to retort, but Derek didn't let him. "Just promise me something, alright? Promise me that you'll use it. The safety word. You have to swear that if you need to, for any reason, at any time... swear that you will, alright?"

Jackson looked slightly taken aback. "Yeah," He said. "I swear."

"Good,"

"You swear you'll use it too, okay?" Jackson added. Derek stared at him, surprised. "If you need me to stop, you'll use it, right? The words not just for me."

Derek was quiet, unsure why he was so surprised by Jackson's request. Or, why it made him feel so... pleased. "If I want you to stop, I can just say stop." He reminded him.

Jackson rolled his eyes. "That's no fun,"

Derek smiled, and clapped a hand on Jackson's shoulder. "I think we have different ideas about what 'fun' is, Jackson." Jackson smiled tensely back at him, and Derek dropped his arm. "Alright, what's wrong now?" He asked.

"Nothing," Jackson said, in a voice that that Derek recognized to mean _basically everything. _He waited, and after a moment, Jackson continued. "I mean, it's just... can I ask you something?"

"You just did," Jackson did not look impressed. "Yeah, go ahead,"

"Do you actually like this?" Jackson asked. Again, Derek was surprised. "I mean, do you like what we've been doing? The rough stuff, do you actually like that or... or do you just do it because you know _I _like it?"

Derek felt a cool pit open in his stomach, and he turned away from Jackson. For a moment, he considered not answering him. "That's a complicated question," Derek muttered, staring off at the other side of his loft. Behind him, the rain continued to hammer at his windows, and a violent clap of thunder shook the building. He felt Jackson shift over slightly, moving closer to him on the bed.

With difficulty, Derek forced himself to meet Jackson's eye. "Is it?" Jackson asked. Derek didn't think he'd meant the question rhetorically.

Derek sighed. "I do like it," He said, resisting the urge to look away again. When had Jackson become so chatty, anyways? Conversations between them were supposed to be short, usually meaningless things they had to fill up the time between when they'd finished having sex to when they were ready to go again. Definitely nothing long and drawn out like this.

He could feel Jackson staring at him expectantly. Derek clenched his jaw, and tried to force something out. It did not come easily. "But... there's also something about it that feels... wrong, to me." He managed.

Jackson's brow creased, and Derek saw hurt well up in his eyes. Derek grabbed his hand. "I feel like _I'm _wrong," He amended, "for liking it. It feels like there's something wrong with me, for hurting you... and enjoying it."

Jackson's eyes were wide when Derek finished, and Derek couldn't tell whether or not he was still upset. But he had been the one who'd asked, after all. All Derek had done was answer him. Would it have been better to lie? He really didn't know the answer to that. The truth was often inconvenient, but since Derek was trying to do better, it had seemed like the right answer to give.

It wasn't an easy feeling to explain—not that Derek could have said that he considered _any _feeling easy to explain, but the feelings he felt towards Jackson were especially complicated. Like the way he knew he never wanted to hurt him, and yet still took so much pleasure in hearing him cry out, or gasp in pain. How Jackson frustrated him, and aggravated him to his core... and yet more and more he found himself lying awake at night, thinking about how very lonely his bed felt, without Jackson in it.

Derek couldn't explain any of that, how or why it had happened or whether it was the right or wrong thing for either of them... and as he looked at Jackson, and waited for him to say something, he wondered if he would not be able to understand it either.

And then, Jackson nodded. "Yeah, me too." He said quietly. "I mean... I feel like I'm wrong, for wanting you to do those things to me. It feels like there's something wrong with me... but I can't stop wanting it." Jackson gave him a small, sad smile. "I guess we're both in a pretty fucked up place right now, huh?"

Derek snorted, and pulled Jackson into his arms. It was probably wasn't right, that knowing Jackson felt that way made him feel better... but he did. It was comforting, in a way. He thought back, to what Jackson had said to him, the first time they'd been together after training. About feeling less alone, when he was with him.

Maybe they were both right, to feel so wrong, Derek thought. Maybe what they wanted from each other _was_ wrong, and they were wrong for not being able to stop it. He ran the back of his fingers over Jackson's cheek bone, feeling the curve of it, and heard Jackson's heart begin to pound in his chest. He wondered how something so simple could still be so exciting to him, after all they'd done together.

"Yeah, I guess we are," Derek mumbled, feeling Jackson's hand slip down the waist band of his sweat pants. "But at least we don't have to be here alone."

* * *

This time there was no holding back.

Jackson had known Derek was holding back, had even wondered in his darker moment if Derek had been doing it on purpose, out of spite... but he hadn't known that he had been holding back as well. Not until he wasn't anymore, did he realize.

It wasn't that it was so different, from the way it had been before... it wasn't, really. It was just... _more._ Derek pushed harder, used him more cruelly, and while he fucked him began to whisper the most horrible things into Jackson's ear. Dark, twisted things about Jackson, things he knew Jackson wanted him to do and all the terrible things he would to do him later (half of which Jackson knew Derek would _never _do to him, but that he enjoyed hearing about, none the less). And Jackson begged and pleaded with him, even demanded that Derek stop. He promised Derek that he would be good for him, do whatever he wanted, if he just stopped for a moment please please _please... _

It wasn't all that different, but it was what Jackson had been waiting for. Even while it was happening, and he was incapable of formulating thoughts more complex than "oh, god yes," and a repeated notion that he'd very much like to come, he knew it was what he'd been waiting for, the whole time. Maybe it was the freedom of it, of not having to hold anything back from Derek... maybe it was knowing that Derek was holding nothing back from him.

Whatever it was, it was raw, and painful, and _wonderful _and Jackson couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd felt more alive. Listening to the rain beat against the windows, as Derek fucked Jackson with his back against the head board, Derek's mouth at his throat and his fangs out, threatening to bite, Jackson couldn't ever remember having felt closer to anyone, either. Lightening flashed and light up the loft as Jackson came, gasping breathlessly and grasping at Derek for support. He tried to say something, maybe Derek's name, but whatever it was he couldn't wrap his mouth around it. And when Derek finished a moment later, Jackson felt a searing pain in his shoulder, and he dizzily realized that Derek had bit him.

"Sorry..." Derek gasped, letting Jackson down as he wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Chest heaving, Jackson limply relaxed back against the headboard. There was a familiar tickling sensation around the bridge of his nose, and though he briefly considered fighting it, in the end he decided there was no real reason why he should. Jackson's shoulders began to shake, and he felt the first tears prickle in his eyes. Then he put his face in his hands, and began to cry.

"Jackson? Jackson...?" Jackson could hear Derek's voice near his ear, hesitant and quiet. He began to sob harder, and turned his face towards the sound of Derek's voice, buried his face into his chest. Derek wrapped his arms around him, and held him tight as he sobbed and moaned, whispering that it would be alright, he promised. Derek stroked his hair, and promised him it would be alright, and told him that he was safe. And Jackson cried and cried, and as he cried he began to feel as if he was letting go of something, something that had been locked up in side of him for months. Something toxic. And Jackson was crying it all out of his system, ridding himself of that poison drop by drop.

Jackson didn't know how long he cried for, minutes maybe, or an hour. Once he'd finished, he picked himself up from Derek's lap and wiped his face. He felt dizzy, and light. "Are you alright?" Derek asked, his eyebrows knit together in concern. Jackson nodded, and gave him a shaky smile. It steadied somewhat as Derek reached forward and touched his cheek, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "Was it something I did?" His voice was quiet.

Jackson rolled his eyes, and shook his head. "_No,_" He told him.

Derek withdrew his hand, and looked Jackson up and down. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Instead of answering, Jackson leaned in and pressed his mouth against Derek's. For a moment Derek did not respond, but simply sat there as Jackson kissed him. Then he pulled Jackson into his arms, and kissed him back, slowly, gently, but with a firmness that made Jackson ache. He wrapped his arms around Derek's neck, and parted his lips further, allowing Derek's tongue to slip between them. Jackson pulled Derek closer, and kissed him harder, and wondered why it was he'd been so afraid to do this before.


End file.
